


(The Making of) Destiny (with footnotes)

by Itar94



Series: There’s a Beta for Every Writer, and Vice Versa [2]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwalin has a sharp tongue, M/M, Modern AU, also tumblr, and email exchanges, and fanfic writing in the background, and really he wants to help, everybody is a shipper, making a mess of canon and character ages, many other characters mentioned/making background appearances, other relationships implied, there IS a plot, there is matchmaking, with high school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And we are going to work with this assignment in pairs,” Professor Grey says and proceeds writing a list of twos on the blackboard: <i>Bofur and Dori; Ori and Rosie; Thorin and Bilbo</i> – wait.</p><p>“And the assignment,” the Professor goes on unhindered by the cry of dismay coming from the row where Mr Oakenshield himself is seated, “is due in eight weeks, which gives you plenty of time to create an exemplary work and perhaps get to know each other a little better. Who knows, you may have more in common than you think.”</p><p>Or, the one where Bilbo thinks Thorin is an impolite arrogant prick, and Thorin very highly probably <i>is</i> one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Although set in the same 'verse as_ [The Eight Stages of Falling in Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/730903/chapters/1357972) _, you don't necessarily need to read that one to understand this fic because this one focuses on another pairing (and slightly different setting). What you need to know is that it's a modern AU (which is explained in greater detail in[the end notes](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/4491171#work_endnotes) of The Eight Stages...), wherein there's also tumblr, fanfic, history lessons taught by mysterious Professors in Grey, and long-lasting friendships (also annoying matchmaking cousins)._

* * *

It’s not even thirty-three past eight and Thorin glances up from the desk, already bored, as the door creaks open and the teacher enters the room, followed on the heels by a surprisingly short person; they have not even the slightest hint of stubble on their cheeks, and their feet are bare, so it’s not a Dwarf. Plus not even a Dwarf would be that short. Hmpfh, pity; newcomer Dwarves are always interesting to talk to, but a Halfling could hardly share any of his interests. Thorin returns to doodling in his book on Metallurgy even if it’s not the class he’s in right now. (History has never really been his thing, and their Professor really can be such a troll sometimes.)

“Today, class, I’d like you to give a warm welcome to a new student. He’s come all the way from the Shire to finish last year with us.”

The Hobbit waves a hand slightly shyly at the crowd. There are a few nods and smiles return but most people just sit staring at the board with glazed eyes, and there’s an argument in Khuzdul starting in the next-last row.

Professor Grey does not look amused, sending the boys and girls a firm look, and most of them have the decency to look abashed. There are some hushed whispers roaming the walls of the classroom, silencing only when the teacher speaks. “Well, why don’t we let Mr Baggins introduce himself?”

“Uh, hello everybody,” says the Hobbit. His voice is quite smooth and soft, but a little awkward at the edges. His wide blue eyes roam the classroom with badly hidden uncertainty. “I’m Bilbo Baggins and I’m from the Shire and, umm,” he pauses momentarily, gaze flickering across the mostly Dwarf-filled room, taking in their beards and rough hands, and the pause drags on as he chuckles nervously. “I hope I’ll have a good semester here, with … err, you guys.”

“As I am sure you will,” Professor Grey fills in. Sometimes, like now, the teacher smiles in a very mysterious way with knowingly twinkling eyes. “There’s an empty seat over there next to Mr. Oakenshield.”

Thorin flinches and looks up at the mention of his name. Then he realizes what the teacher’s just said.

The Hobbit is going to sit next to him? What? No! No, no!

That place is reserved - for emptiness. Always has been, always _should_ be. Everyone knows he likes sitting right on this spot with no one next to him to annoy him. Because they would annoy him. Anyone sitting next to him would talk and probe and push at him: yeah, he can bet that the Hobbit’s going to ask ‘Are you _really_ Thorin Oakenshield?’ and go on in annoying high-pitched voice; ‘Like, _really_? THE Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór?’ and ‘Is it true you own whole Halls filled with pure diamond and gold?’ which would sooner or later lead to awkward date-asking and unwanted friend requests on Facebook, and Thorin really, really can’t take that shit right now.

The Hobbit begins moving toward him.

No. It won’t happen. Thorin clears his throat. Loudly.

Professor Grey ignores him. It’s odd, he usually doesn’t ignore anybody. But now, the teacher has turned his back, fiddling with the overhead and the rest of class has started murmuring and talking as usual (there’s still a fight in the back row; probably Nori and Ori bickering about…something). And the Hobbit is getting ever closer to his sacred empty seat. The calm seat. The seat which ensures that nobody annoys him.

Thorin clenches his hands tightly to remain still. He clears his throat, again.

The Hobbit pulls out the chair. He has a bag with him, green and red, and he places it over the back of the chair all nice and proper like an A-student and pulls out an empty notebook with small, deft hands. His hair is very, very curly and blonde, and _by the Maker’s beard, don’t let him sit there, please, Mahal._

“Um, hello,” the Hobbit says, glancing at him.

Thorin glares back at him silently.

The damned professor’s one-colour suit is still turned away and Thorin may start getting smoke out of his ears at any moment now. The Hobbit is sitting down. Sitting on the precious empty chair which has remained empty for the last five years and which forever _should_ remain empty, if not for the stupid Hobbit and the stupid professor assigning him to that chair.

He clears his throat. _Again_. The Hobbit glances at him curiously.

“You alright?” he says.

The Halfling doesn’t say ‘Oh my god, you’re Thorin Oakenshield!’ or even ‘Is it _you_?’. No, there are no such fangirlish exclamations or realizations.

Only: “I’ve got a packet of cough drops, if you’d like one. If, uh, if you need it, I mean.”

This time he clears his throat for other reasons and he stares at the Hobbit and his offering for a while, almost stupidly. The Hobbit stares back, without flinching. His eyes are grey and a tuft of dark blonde hair is just about to fall into his left eye.

“No thanks,” Thorin says briskly and looks away, toward the window.

“Umm, suit yourself then,” the Hobbit murmurs and Thorin pretends not to hear.

* * *

The Hobbit remains quiet the rest of the hour and when finally they’re let out of the classroom, Thorin rises quickly and walks past without a glance to meet up with Dwalin and the other guys who are moving toward the lockers.

But, just as he passes, he thinks (he might mishear) he hears the Hobbit sigh quietly, starting to gather his notebooks in silence: “Just like last time.”

The Hobbit had taken an insane amount of notes during the lesson. Probably trying to impress Professor Grey; yeah, he’s just like any other of those eye-timers – or, worse, he really _is_ that perfect a student that always takes notes, always studies, is moderately social and gets A+ on everything he does, and will remain like that until graduation. Hopefully they won’t share that many classes.

The way the Hobbit had kept glancing at him throughout the lesson had been … _unsettling_. Usually Thorin would just brush anyone off who did that. He gets to meet his fair share of admirers when on the train or when taking a coffee down at the Prancing Pony. But, this had been different. There’d been no outright staring or (thank Durin!) blushing or mutterings of ‘Wow, it’s _Oakenshield’_ ; just these glances, silent and wordless and a bit nervous.

Why does Thorin get the impression that the Hobbit was _worried_ about him?

It makes no sense.

Anyway, he doesn’t linger on it as he moves out of the classroom. As earlier predicted, Dwalin is standing by the lockers, looking like he’s trying to break his apart. Or rather, break into it.

At Thorin’s raised eyebrow, Dwalin answers the wordless inquiry with a mutter. “Forgot the key again.”

Yep, as usual then.

His cousins Fíli and Kíli appear a few minutes later, latched arm in arm and chatting over-excitedly. With them is Gimli, who has got his nose buried in a note-book (to no-one’s surprise), and it’s not one on physics or maths, Thorin’s sure, rather scribbles from his latest fanfic project. The red-haired Dwarf is also but more distantly related to him, as his second cousin – too far for anyone really to care, or at least for Dwarves to care. Halflings, he’s heard, are far more interested in stuff like that.

“Hey guys! Long time no see!” the interlinked pair exclaim as one, walking toward Thorin and the rest of the awaiting Dwarves. No eyebrow is raised at their eerie sync.

“Hi,” murmurs Gimli, distractedly, trailing a bit behind them. He’s reaching for a pencil and, looking up for a moment, waves a hand at them but then he spots an unoccupied bench a bit further down the corridor and makes his way toward it. Thorin lets him be. When his stuck in one of those ‘creative processes’ of his he needs to be left alone. Fíli and Kíli (especially the younger of the two) don’t seem to understand that all too well.

“Does anybody else have maths now?” Ori, Erebor’s own next Van Gogh (though the Dwarf shyly insists they stop calling him that), asks peering out from behind the schedule in his hands.

“I do,” Dwalin says and then, his voice suddenly turns a lot sourer (if that’s even physically possible). “Oh, no, not with that horrendous _witch_.”

Fíli splutters. “Hey! Professor Galadriel’s not a witch!”

Professor Galadriel is the only Elf teacher on the school and has gained quite a reputation. Not only because, as an Elf, she’s truly beautiful – hauntingly so even. Some whispers have it she can look into people’s minds which is why surprisingly many fail at the tests (read: surprisingly many cases of cheating are found out) and why everyone’s pretty terrified of her. Behind her calm, collected demeanour and sparkling blue eyes there is a dark fire raging and everyone is scared of being in its way, even Headmaster Smaug.

“You only say that because you think she’s hot, for an Elf anyway,” Thorin says with a roll of eyes, gathering his history books. “Plus you got an A in maths.”

No one could really get their heads around the fact yet that Fíli - _Fíli! -_ got an A, and in _maths_ no less. (It has also caused a wave of rumours of a kind Thorin tries not to dwell on. Durin knows how many times just this month that people have asked him about Fíli’s ways, knowing they are cousins.)

“Can’t help it if you’re a genius.”

“Don’t be such a smartass,” says Bofur, who’s joined them, and slings an arm around Fíli’s shoulder. They have been BFFs since kindergarten – there was this incident in mid-winter involving a patch of slippery ice and a pair of stolen shoes; they’ve kept their arms interlinked ever since. The cap-clad Dwarf pokes the blonde’s side ignoring his squeaked protests. “I’ll find out your secrets; oh yes, I will. Now, let’s go, I need to buy a new pencil at the cafeteria. My last one broke.”

“Only because you tried to stab my hand with it!”

“It was a poor tactic putting your hand there.”

Thorin just shakes his head when the argument ensues and gathers his geography books for next class.


	2. Part 2

* * *

Now it must be known that Bilbo Baggins officially _hates_ \- no, he utterly, utterly _loathes_ \- shifting schools.

One might be shocked at the revelation that this kind, shy and usually quite reserved Hobbit is even _capable_ of hating. Normally he would never hate anything or anyone. He’s even forgiven his father, years ago.

But he’ll never get used to it. Maybe, had he been more of a Took, he would’ve enjoyed it. His mother Belladonna has this unquenched fire inside her, thirsting for adventure and even as a little boy Bilbo had had it too.

He can’t recall how many times he’d been scolded for coming home late, dragging with him mud and fireflies. His father, Bungo, had always given him a stern look, muttering about his unbecoming behaviour. A Baggins wouldn’t just be out all day running in the woods, _exploring,_ and they _certainly_ wouldn’t pretend to be a warrior slaying dragons! It just wasn’t done!

They had lived in a typical Hobbit cottage outside of Hobbiton, and there’d been this glade half a mile outside town that Bilbo loved. A small creek passed by there and it was the perfect spot to build a castle, just like in the books his mother read aloud at bedtime when he was little. And there across the tiny stream there lived a dragon with huge yellow teeth and terrifying eyes (he also imagined that it was green, like on the sign above the door to The Green Dragon down Bag End Street), and Bilbo went there every day during the summers to catch a glimpse of that beast.

Hobbiton is one of the oldest Hobbit towns in the Shire – in the whole of Arda, probably – and few other races have ever settled there. A few families of Men lived there and it was a beloved resort for retirees; some Dwarves were settled in the outskirts, but the majority was made up of Hobbits. The Mayor as well as nearly every other important post was filled up by Hobbits. Bilbo had liked it there. It was calm, peaceful, with its blooming meadows and wide open fields and well-loved, carefully tended gardens and the little rivers. Their house had been close to that beautiful glade were he’d liked to play, and his family had been happy.

It was _home_.

Mostly, he played in the woods alone. The other boys and girls didn’t want to go there with him or their parents didn’t want them to go. He’d always been a bit weird, a bit fay, a bit too audacious, and it had always hurt to hear them whisper in first grade: ‘Look, that’s him, that’s Belladonna Took’s son.’

But, there were a few straws of gold found among the hay. There was Drogo Baggin’s son, Frodo, a few years younger than him. Bilbo liked him and they were cousins, thus he was encouraged to socialize with him. They spent whole summers together ‘off on adventures’ as they called it, much to their respective parents’ dismay. Some of Frodo’s friends, mostly Sam but also Merry and Pippin (the latter two had always been attached to the hip), also appeared to play games, in those days before they considered themselves too old to play outside (and before either of them got hold on a computer or gaming console).

He'd showed Frodo the glade – the first person he showed it to. Not unlike sharing a secret, thrilling and hidden under the trees; and together they’d fought terrible beasts and saved princesses (and fought a little about who was to play the knight and who was to play the damsel in distress).

They shared the same spirit – at least, up until Frodo’s twelfth birthday. There was an accident on the Brandywine River; Bilbo can’t recall all what it entailed because no one would tell him, saying he was too young to understand. But Frodo turned very quiet after that. A week later, there was a funeral for his parents. Memories which still aren’t quite clear to Bilbo, but he remembers being cold and sad and of Frodo not saying a word, as, after the funeral, some of Frodo’s relatives came to take him away to live with them.

He’s not seen him in person ever since, though he, after some struggle, managed to get hold of his friend’s address. In the last two years they’ve taken to emailing each other. Last he heard, Frodo was once again cheery like before his parents’ death, and he had his friends, Sam and Merry and Pippin and several others. By ye gods, Bilbo missed them all. What did he have now, here, in Erebor, except silence?

It was all so unfair.

His mother knew of the glade, naturally. She always smiled when he told her of the day’s adventures. And she always asked if he’d had a good time and when he would return there. _When_ , not if. But Belladonna never saw it with her own eyes. Now he’ll probably never return. It might have been turned into another residential district for all he knows; Hobbiton has been rapidly expanding as of late. And Bilbo is pretty sure there is no dragon and there’s _never_ _been_ a dragon there, or anywhere near the Shire. Because dragons don’t exist, they’re fairy-tales, creatures that died out so long ago no one’s around to remember them. Anyway, he needs to stop thinking about dragons and fairy-tales. This is reality.

A reality in which he’s in a school of Dwarves, half-way across the continent, in a place full of strangers.

Bilbo still can’t quite grasp the fact that his father is right now still in Hobbiton, still in the Shire, maybe even with some woman Bilbo has never met while he and his mother have no choice but to move from place to place, wherever work takes them. Because that’s it, that’s the raw truth. They have no money to linger anywhere. His mother works as a cook – she’s good at it too, but she’s a Hobbit and they have left the safety of the Shire for a world of Men and Dwarves.

It wouldn’t be so bad, if she could just settle down. But all since the divorce when Bilbo was fourteen there hasn’t been a year, not a month, that has looked the same.

And now, he’s here, just like last time five months ago, sitting in a desk beside a foreign Dwarf teen who has only glared at him and also seems to be developing a cough. Bilbo hopes he’s not going to catch ill from him. It’s the last thing they’d need right now. Plus, the Dwarf seems terribly rude. He didn’t even say hello!

Nothing like Hobbit manners at all.

With a sigh he starts to gather up his things – he shouldn’t linger on it now, there are other more pressing things to attend to like the fact he has no idea where classroom C13 is. Apparently he’s meant to have history in fifteen minutes.

He glances around the classroom as, while making a shocking amount of noise, the class stands and start making its way toward the door. He’s the only Hobbit there and he feels suddenly very small. Even Dwarves generally stand higher than Hobbits. Many of them seem quite rowdy and delinquent. The Professor is very calm however as if used to it taking ten loud minutes to empty the room. He’s sorting through some papers.

The Dwarf who’s sat beside him – didn’t the teacher call him Mr. Oakenshield? The name rings a faraway bell that Bilbo cannot quite place – rises without looking at him. Bilbo remains sitting. Better wait and then he can slip out quietly. He hasn’t had time to locate his locker yet and carries all of his notebooks with him in his rucksack. 

As he walks past, Oakenshield bumps into the back of his chair; suddenly enough for it to seem like an accident, but the collision is strong enough for Bilbo to suspect it wasn’t. He frowns. What’s he done? When seeing the other teen didn’t want to talk, he’d kept his mouth shut the whole hour; Bilbo can’t imagine ever having done anything to annoy him. Other from _existing_ , that is.

“Just like last time,” he sighs tiredly. Looks like he’ll have to start avoiding Oakenshield then before the other decides he’s caused some offence. He doesn’t like the thought. He’s never liked avoiding people on purpose. It’s so unfair that some seem to have such an easy time making friends, while he can’t even look anybody in the eye without starting to stutter or making them angry for some reason.

He’s tried talking to his mother about it. To make her move back to Hobbiton. Back _home_. Not to Bungo, because that’s not possible, Bilbo understands that now – but back to the Shire, at least. To a proper Hobbit hole. He’d _pleaded_. But his mother had just shaken her head, saying something about memories and budget and a job offer she’s gotten which she can’t refuse.

Now that the classroom is empty save for the teacher, still sorting his papers, Bilbo stands. The chair makes a loud noise against the floor as he pushes it back and the teacher looks up, but Bilbo hurries out before the old Man can say anything.

He looks down at the schedule in his hands. History, 9:45, C13. Corridor C, room 13, maybe? But where on Arda could that corridor be? With a frustrated sigh he glances from left to right and back again. Lockers and lockers stretch up the corridor, yellow and red. Finding the right classroom this morning after meeting with the headmaster had been quite a struggle.

There’s yet another thing to add to The List of Things That Bilbo Baggins Hates - he hates being new, surrounded by strangers _and_ completely lost.

“Hey,” a voice says behind him.

It’s so sudden that Bilbo startles and nearly drops everything he’s holding.

“Whoa, don't get your beard in a frizzle! Didn’t mean to startle you. I haven’t seen you before; are you new here?”

With a nervous chuckle Bilbo adjusts the strap of his bag and turns around. It’s a Dwarf, with blonde hair and beard, braided with a few beads in it. He still can’t understand that thing about beards and hair-decorations. Men never seem to have those. Next to him is another Dwarf, with darker hair and a big smile on his face.

The one good thing about attending a school were the majority is made of Dwarves is that most of the fellow students actually are at eye-height. It’s just so awkward having to look up at people all the time and it always gives him such a terrible crick in the neck.

“Err, yeah,” he says. “I’m Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. And you are…?”

The blonde Dwarf holds out a hand. Given that he might take offence if he refuses, Bilbo takes it and is given a firm shake in return. “Fíli, at your service.”

“And I’m Bofur.”

“Hi,” Bilbo says, grasping wildly for anything to say. He can’t help glancing at the watch on his arm. 9:42. And he still needs to find that classroom! The two Dwarves move around, so that one is on either side of him. Both are, even if just so slightly, taller than him too. Typical.  Even against Dwarves he stands no chance! “So, um. Are you both attending twelfth year? I am. Umm.”

“Yup,” says the first one - Fíli, wasn’t it? The young Dwarf smirks. “Well, not Bofur here, he’s a freshman, poor little guy.”

“Hey! Just because _I_ help _you_ out with homework.” Bofur, who Bilbo notices is wearing a brown cap, reaches over the Hobbit to smack the other Dwarf over the head. “So,” he says then, turning to Bilbo, sounding pleasant again and smiling, “if you need any help or anything, just ask. My locker’s down this corridor and Fíli and his brother Kíli hang around Thorin a lot, so you’d just grab either of them if there’s anything.”

Startled but pleasantly so at this offer, Bilbo smiles a little for the first time today. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you. Well, I’m a little lost to be honest. I need to be finding classroom, uh, C13…?”

Fíli flashes a grin. “Let me guess, geography? You’re going to _love_ Professor Balin; he’s a genius, seriously! Come on, we’ll show you.”

And thus Bilbo finds himself escorted by two Dwarves down a maze of corridors, up and down stairs and he wonders if he’ll find his way back on his own. Erebor High is a lot larger than he’d anticipated. They bombard him with questions but in a nice, polite way and they share warm jokes and Bilbo starts to think that maybe the Dwarves of Erebor aren’t just the overall noisy, unpleasant bunch which he’d believed them to be.

If only that would apply to that Oakenshield guy …

They arrive at a red-painted door opposite to a grand window at precisely 9:45. The door is wide-open and within, the students haven’t settled down yet, talking loudly. There’s the sound of furniture being moved and the rattling of keys. A bit out of breath – they had walked _very_ fast – Bilbo thanks them, and the Dwarves grin in return. Apparently they are off to different directions now and Bofur walks left, and Fíli right. Both wave their hands goodbye.

Inhaling slowly to still his unsteady breathing, Bilbo steps over the threshold.

And exhales.

Every seat is occupied, save one. Down at the back. Like the chair has been avoided, or as if sitting on that particular chair would involve a lot of pain. And there’s Oakenshield, propped up against the wall, next to the empty chair, arms crossed over his chest, a veil sour bitterness over his whole face. It’s as if the fifteen minute break has only made his mood fouler.

_You can’t be serious._

Bilbo desperately glances around the room, but there’s no other empty seat, and he’s starting to feel a bit like an idiot, just standing here. People have started looking at him. Ears burning, he walks forward, slowly like a robot that’s short-circuited. Oakenshield’s head turns toward him as he approaches, and the Dwarf’s frown deepens. Bilbo holds his gaze for as long as he can manage. _Just let me sit here, okay. Please? You don’t have to look at me as if you want to hack me down!_

He only thinks it however, and doesn’t say it aloud. As he sits down, Oakenshield is still staring at him in an intense and frankly unnerving manner. “Um, there are no other free seats,” he murmurs as if an explanation is necessary.

Oakenshield sharply looks away and grunts. No words.

Bilbo sighs, just as the room begins to hush down as the professor, a Dwarf with a very white beard, appears carrying a bunch of books underneath his arm.

_Why do I get the feeling my day just turned a lot worse?_

* * *

“I’m back!”

Belladonna kisses his cheek in greeting like she’s always done. She’s still wearing her old favourite apron – well, her only one - as she greets him, quickly closing the door behind him to close off the howling February wind. “How’s your day been, sweetie?”

Bilbo shrugs off his bag, now much heavier with new books than when he left the apartment this morning, placing it on the run-down bureau (an heirloom from his grandmother) in the hall. “It’s been all right, I guess. Oh, that smells lovely, mom.”

“I made your favourite.” She smiles and hugs him again. Like an apology. Bilbo smiles back.

The kitchen smells of warm hearth and newly cooked food. It’s the only room that’s relatively homely, despite – or perhaps thanks to - being on the small side. The left wall is adorned with pictures of him as a baby, of him and his mother, but none of his father. The only thing left of him, it seems, is the name Baggins. He wonders if his mother ever plan on changing back to her former last name and become a known Took chef instead, but she hasn’t spoken of it and Bilbo is afraid of bringing up the subject, knowing what it could lead to.

He takes seat by the table. It’s set neatly by a professional hand, even if the simple napkins aren’t folded very well (Belladonna has never really mastered that art) and quickly the food is loaded onto plates. As they eat, he retells how the day’s been in his usual fashion, and his mother hums and nods all at the right places. She doesn’t speak of any troubles of her own day, not a single grimace, but she never really genuinely smiles either – in truth, she hasn’t since they left the safety of the Shire.

Bilbo chews on a piece of fish, thoughtfully. He can’t stop thinking about those two incidences today for some reason, though thankfully they hadn’t been repeated as he and Oakenshield had only shared those two classes. But still. He had been acting rude, especially comparing to Fíli and Bofur who both had been very nice.

“… Though I still don’t quite understand why he was acting so off-putting. It didn’t even do anything to him! Just sat down next to him – the chair was free after all. What does he think I am; some kind of thief?”

“He probably just had a bad day,” Belladonna says knowingly. “We all have those.”


	3. Part 3

* * *

“This year we’re going to start our history course with a project. A sort of quest, if you will. You will explore your family trees –” There’s a whoop of joy from one of the Hobbits in the front row. “- as far back as possible, and see how it criss-crosses through time and place, and seek out our places of origin. And we are going to work with this assignment in pairs,” Professor Grey says and proceeds writing a list of twos on the blackboard: _Bofur and Dori; Ori and Rosie; Thorin and Bilbo_ – wait.

“And the assignment,” the Professor goes on unhindered by the cry of dismay coming from the row where Mr Oakenshield himself is seated, “is due in eight weeks, which gives you plenty of time to create an exemplary work and perhaps get to know each other a little better. Who knows, you may have more in common than you think.”

In common? Him? With that curly-haired Halfling?

Dwalin kicks him in the shin from behind and as he whirls his head around to glare at him, Thorin only finds his old friend his smirking at him oh-so-evilly, the silver pearl attached to one of his front teeth glimmering. “Good luck, Brother.”

_Curse him for daring to find my plight amusing!_

* * *

Meanwhile, Bilbo wants to sink down to the floor and hide. Maybe he could convince Professor Grey to let him swap partners. The assignment in itself isn’t so bad – in fact, it’s marvellous, perfect for a Hobbit! He wouldn’t mind if he’d been chosen to work with that Rosie Cotton or Peregrin Took, or even Fíli or Bofur; they seemed like decent fellows – but Thorin Oakenshield, the Dwarf who had decided to loathe him for his mere _existence?_

And for him to be so damned stubborn too.

And with those nicely shaped abs – _nope_.

* * *

“And,” the Professor finishes once the classroom has quieted down some, “no swapping of partners is allowed. It is not open for discussion. I have teamed you up with great care. Fail to fulfil this assignment (to the best of your abilities), and you shall not pass this course. Now, off you go.”

* * *

It’s going to be some very, _very_ long eight weeks.

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Dwalin says, for the fourth time, scratching his chin. “He sat at the Sacred Spot, had too good manners and too curly hair, and therefore you hate his guts?”

“I never said anything about _hate_! I was … just annoyed, that’s all.”

“ _Well_ … you know what they say,” his friend drawls, smirking, “first comes -”

“Don’t you even dare go there!” Thorin growls. “Why do I even bother to keep you around?”

“Because you need me to save your ass whenever you get into trouble,” Dwalin answers smoothly, “plus without me you’d never get anything proper done. All you’d do would be ride around the block in that pretty car of yours and flash your diamonds and have girls and boys throwing themselves at you; where’d you think you’d end up then? Probably in a bad place. Broke.”

“But _you’re_ making me broke,” Thorin says. And, no, that is not a whine, even if it'd be a very majestic whine.

“When you say you pay for all the drinks—”

“Ugh, never mind. Don’t remind me of that disaster.”

“It wasn’t so bad. It was actually pretty amusing to see Kíli dancing on the table like that, especially when he attempted to drag Fíli into it.”

“He could’ve broken both of his arms, that idiot!”

“Aww, come on, Thorin. I know you’re just acting this way to avoid the real subject – the Hobbit. So, what’s the real deal? Have you met him before? Is he a real badass on the inside? Incredibly rich and sexy and therefore a threat to your status as _The_ Dwarf around here?”

“No! No. _Definitely_ not. He’s probably very broke. And boring, plain-looking, like any other Hobbit who doesn’t own a comb. Definitely _not_ ‘sexy’! All he did was taking notes frantically and, and _looking_ at me. Like, I don’t know – like he was worried, which is _crazy,”_ Thorin emphasizes. “It made no sense. _And_ he sat on the Spot.”

“You are aware, aren’t you, that your obsession with always sitting alone could possibly be harmful and the first signs of a deeper disorder?”

“Butt out of this, Fee, go do something useful.”

Fíli pouts but scurries off. Dwalin rolls his eyes.

“Look at what you did, Thorin,” he says in a grave tone. “Now you hurt his feelings. Just like you must have done to that poor Hobbit, who was only concerned about your welfare.”

“We’ve got to do an assignment together. On History.”

“I know. And?”

“And?! The _problem_ ,” Thorin growls, “is that I have got to do a deathly tedious history assignment with that boring, _annoying_ Hobbit for _two bloody months_ and he’s not—”

“Is he a straight A-student? Perfect teacher's pet?” Dwalin cuts in and Thorin scowls. “Ah. Well. Just, swallow your strange sense of jealousy and bite the sour apple. Two months isn’t long. It’ll be done in a jiffy. Besides it’s the perfect opportunity to get to know the guy. He mightn’t be so bad, after all. Tell me, exactly _how_ many sentences has he spoken to you since you first met?”

The dark-haired Dwarf grumbles something.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

“Five.” He clears his throat and lifts his gaze. “Five sentences.”

“That’s … uplifting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Maybe he’s thinking you’re boring and annoying and ugly too, and wants as much to do with you as you want to do with him.” At his friend’s incredulous look Dwalin goes on; “You can be quite obnoxious and unpleasant. Frankly a pain in the ass. I feel quite sorry for the guy, to be honest, that he’ll have to deal with you for two months. Shall I warn the Company that you’ll be in a bad mood for the rest of term?”

Thorin glares at him.

“This conversation is over.”

“If you say so,” Dwalin says with a smirk. He knows Thorin too well. Far too well.

* * *

“Is something wrong, dearie?” Belladonna inquires when he comes home.

Not coming up with any reply, Bilbo just goes to his room and crashes onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

* * *

To: RedBookofWestmarch@ardamail.com          
From: baggins.forever@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-01-09 09:09:38

**Subject: A letter from your cousin**

_Dear cousin,_

_How are you holding up? I heard you have moved to Erebor. I hope all is well with you, and that you will find friends there. Surely there are some Hobbits there too!_

_All is good and well here in the Shire. I’m going to Merry’s birthday party tomorrow; it’s going to be quite a feast! You know Merry, always up to something. Half of Hobbiton has been invited. He has ordered a large package of fireworks so I expect there’ll be quite the display – or possibly disaster! Pippin’s all cheering on him, of course, thinking it’s an excellent idea. I am not so sure myself. Well, in the worst case scenario we’ve got Sam there, who is so level-headed, who can help me clear up any occurring mess._

_Besides from that, not much is happening here. Someone tried stealing from old Maggot again! The usual stuff; but there was a great deal about potatoes in the newspaper. But the Sherriff found the rascals pretty quickly._

_Hopefully Erebor is a peaceful place. I fear I’ve heard so much about Dwarven and Mannish cities, about their higher crime rates – have you noticed anything in particular in Erebor? I hate to think you have ended up somewhere dreadful!_

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Ever your friend,_

_Frodo_

* * *

He doesn’t want to literarily write _'Everything here right now sucks, it’s like being surrounded by a heap of trolls with no sun in sight_.' But. Well. That’s pretty much how he feels like at the moment.

And Merry’s having a party! A real, proper Hobbit birthday _party_! Which is he’s going to miss – _again_. January 10 th – he should’ve known, should’ve remembered. Should’ve sent a card since there’s no possible way for him to attend. No doubt, in the next twenty four hours, his Ardagram feed will be full of imagery from the feast, pictures of food and laughing people and splendid (or calamitous) fireworks sparkling over the lake. And all he’s got are four empty walls to stare at while contemplating the dark months to come.

But he’s been taught manners and niceties and Frodo is obviously in a good mood, looking forward to tomorrow. What kind of Hobbit would Bilbo be to ruin that?

* * *

To: baggins.forever@ardamail.com  
From: RedBookofWestmarch@ardamail.com          
SA 2013-01-09 17:32:21

**Subject: Re: A letter from your cousin**

_Hello Frodo,_

_It’s nice to hear from you and I’m happy everything’s going so well._

_Erebor is interesting enough, I suppose, and there are quite a few Hobbits attending this school. I ate lunch with a Rosie Cotton, very nice girl. And I met a couple of Dwarves as well that didn’t seem too bad, Fíli and Bofur, who helped me find the right classrooms the first day. The manners of some other Dwarves was utterly appalling. Erebor isn’t the Shire._

_Say hello to Sam and the others, and congratulations from me to Merry! It’s not every day you become a tween._

_Cheers,_

_Your dearest friend and cousin,_

_Bilbo_


	4. Part 4

They both try to delay it – having to start with the History project, meaning having to work together, meaning having to meet and sit down and talk. Thorin isn’t fond of the idea at all. Or even emailing the Hobbit and working that way. Whatever way means communication, and he wants nothing to do with the Hobbit. Why couldn’t Proffessor Grey just have assigned him to work with Dwalin, or Gimli as usual – or even Fíli or Kíli, the juvenile rascals? Or Ori. Ori’s sensible and smart and they’d have it done in a couple of hours for sure. But no: Grey had assigned him with the Hobbit, and adamantly made sure no pairings would be switched around.

Thus, they’ve – well, mostly Thorin has; but this leads to the Hobbit reacting similarly out of spite – spent one week, and then another, avoiding one another as much as possible. When spotting their unwilling project partner in the corridor they quickly turn the other way, taking another route, or walk past swiftly without seeing eye to eye.

At first, Dwalin finds it all quite amusing. Then Kíli starts expressing worries about his cousin’s grumpiness, and Fíli and Bofur, who have spent several lunch breaks with the Hobbit and found out he’s not so bad, really, he’s just a bit shy – they come to him saying that the Hobbit has started donning that kicked puppy-look that all Halflings seem to have inherited from birth. It’s a terrifying prospect. And really Thorin is just too stubborn. It’s just one simple assignment. Thorin has always boasted his bravery – if dragons were still around he’d for sure volunteer fighting them! And now, one single Hobbit is threatening his very existence, it seems.

Nearing the two week mark, the Hobbit lets Bofur know, who talks to Fíli about it, who lets Kíli know, who tells Thorin that they should – after all (unless they both want a large red FAILED in the subject) meet in the library after school on Friday and discuss the assignment. It is Dwalin, in the end, who manages to convince Thorin that, _yes_ , he needs to pull his head out of his ass and get on with it and, _no_ , Hobbits do _not_ devour Dwarves to make their foot hair curlier (that's just a pesky lie).

The face Thorin makes indicates he might not entirely believe him (neither in the first or latter case).

* * *

To: RedBookofWestmarch@ardamail.com          
From: baggins.forever@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-01-23 21:37:58

**Subject: Re: re: A letter from your cousin**

_Hello dear cousin!_

_I hope you’re faring well. I am sorry for this delay, but I’ve come down with the flu, and spent a whole week in bed like paralyzed. I was so sick I couldn’t even eat properly – just drink some water, and barely at that, without vomiting! And the fever was very high. Sam, the kind soul, came often to visit me, and bring homework from school. I am feeling much better now though, but my stepmom won’t allow me to go back to school yet. Now it’s mostly my throat. It’s so sore, I can hardly speak._

_It’s such a pity you missed Merry’s party. It was magnificent! The party tree was all alight – not with fire, don’t worry! There were fireworks too, spectacular they were, and no one was injured, thank ye Valar. I tried make Sam dance but he was shy as usual, and wouldn’t rise from the table. No girl seemed to catch his eye. I am intrigued by this Rosie Cotton you spoke of. You don’t happen to have her email address, which I could give Sam? He needs someone else to socialize with other than me, Merry and Pippin. A pen-pal would do him mighty good._

_Since you couldn’t to the feast, I’ve forwarded a gift from Merry. It should arrive this Friday. Merry hopes it will suit you and you’ll like it._

_On another notion, Pippin has just told me his dads are going to adopt another one! I’ve met her, Pearl (she’s from a Bolger family originally); she’s just a wee faunt of three years old. Pippin’s a little disgruntled it’s not a boy near his age, but that’s just because he’s got only sisters, you know. I am a bit jealous, I admit. I’ve never had any siblings, and Pippin has now four! Oh, well. On the other hand I imagine they can be quite a pest as well, and I do not have to experience any of_ that _._

_How are things in Erebor? I imagine now that school’s started you’re rather busy. I bet you’ve found more than one friend by now. Fíli and Bofur sound nice, and they’re Dwarves! I meet Dwarrows so rarely here, there’s just this old couple across of us at the moment, an oddity in the Shire. They’re friendly enough, though, and I hope the Dwarves of Erebor are much the same!_

_Hoping to hear from you soon,_

_Ever your friend,_

_Frodo_

* * *

To: baggins.forever@ardamail.com  
From: RedBookofWestmarch@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-01-26 07:40:07

**Subject: Re: re: re: A letter from your cousin**

_Hello Frodo!_

_Say thank you to Merry from me, and many well wishes. I received the gift, which was very kind of him – I mean, usually there’s no gift-giving if you aren’t invited! It’s such a pity I haven’t seen you or any of the others for such a long while. I hope to be able to return to the Shire one day soon._

_The gift will be well-used, I can already tell! It’s perfect. You know how much I like to write, and that empty red book will soon be filled. Maybe I could come up a happy ending, even, for once. Thank Merry a lot! And congratulate Pippin. I’d like to see some photos when you have them. A little sister sounds nice, though I agree they must be pests at times – I guess, I least, since I too have no idea what’s it’s like really._

_Give them all my warmest greetings, especially Sam! I haven’t heard from him for such a long time, and he’s always so nice with everyone. How are he and his dad, the Old Gaffer?_

_At the moment, things in Erebor are fine. Well, I have this History project – and the Dwarf I have to work with is rather ghastly! Not as such, perhaps, but he is very broody and rude and, I imagine, quick to hot temper. I try my best avoiding him. The task in itself isn’t so bad, it’s all about family trees and there, at least, I have an advantage._

_Thankfully, Fíli (the Dwarf’s cousin but thankfully not sharing those traits!) is very kind, and Bofur too, they’ve been showing me around town, along with Fíli’s brother Kíli. They’re really nice boys and remind me so much of Merry and Pippin! (I think you can imagine how they behave sometimes, then!) There are others also, like Rosie - I’ll see what I can do about that email address for Sam! – and a Dwarf named Ori, who’s a bit quieter and smaller than the other Dwarrows I’ve met so far. He makes a lot of beautiful drawings. You’d have seen his sketchbook! He graciously allowed me to photo one of the drawings he’d made, it’s an attached file along with this email. I’m thinking, if I’m going to write something, maybe I could ask him to help illustrating… Just a thought, though, and I don’t know him well enough yet to dare asking. Anyway, they’re all a lot better a bunch than that Thorin guy I have to work with._

_But enough of my rambling. The sun’s shining clearly, even if the snow lingers and the air is icy cold. I guess the Shire is also covered with snow. It’s not as beautiful here, without any rolling hills, but the mountain itself is quite something to look at. It looks exactly like from a travelling brochure – oh, if only the rest of it was like that!_

_Thank you, again, for the gift, and please rest and make sure you recover from that dreadful flu!_

_Your cousin and dearest friend,_

_Bilbo_

* * *

As it turns out, the Hobbit can apparently rattle off half of his family tree just out of thin air, not needing to look anything up or read notes. No, the Hobbit  _knows_ it. There are so many mentions of second cousins twice removed and in-laws on his mother’s side (and what on Earth is a _Took_?) that Thorin’s head starts swimming. Of course, he has a great deal of knowledge about his own family tree, but honestly he cares little for his third cousins on his father’s side or his uncle’s aunt’s cousin’s husband. But apparently it is the sort of thing all Hobbits know. He wonders if it is a born trait or something learned. Maybe it’s in their blood (just like their need for seven meals a day – seven! – and the ability to babble so much. Seriously, once he’s started, the Hobbit won’t shut up.).

Maybe – maybe (slightly possibly is all) – _maybe_ this task won’t be so bad, after all. This Hobbit may have it done very quickly, and they’ll not need to meet to many times. Yeah.

Thorin can’t quite take his eyes off the Hobbit’s hands as he speaks, somehow managing to keep track of it all in his head. He must have begun to lose his nervousness or shyness for a bit, because he isn’t wringing his hands anxiously but moves them a lot as he speaks as if painting pictures, just as vivid story-tellers tend to do.

Then the Halfling starts writing it all down. It makes it no less confusing, to be honest, and he finds himself lost trying to follow the trails. Nonetheless, part of Thorin must admit that there’s more to this Hobbit than what meets the eye.

“You’re like a history book with all of this memorized! That is quite something,” Thorin finds himself saying, and when sensing the Hobbit’s eyes burning on him he quickly adds, “for a Halfling, that is.”

“Well,” Mr Baggins admits (a bit shyly), “Hobbits know a great deal about this kind of thing. Be glad it’s not a task in maths!”

 _Maybe_.

And for some reason this is a warming thought, one that makes Thorin start relaxing.

* * *

“So, how bad was it?” Dwalin asks the next day. “Any bodies I should avoid in the library? Any charges needing pressing?”

Thorin glares at him. “Nobody’s dead. By Aulë, Dwalin.”

“Oh, good. Just to make sure – which table were you at again? Because I need to know what places to avoid now,” the heavily tattooed Dwarf says, making Thorin choke with the following words: “Don’t want to sit by the table you were shagging on.”

At first, Thorin can barely breathe, and he goes very pale under the black beard. Then, he manages to take a deep breathe, and he bellows loud enough for head to turn in the corridor curiously.

“DWALIN! You – you utter _menace_!”

“Oh yes I am,” the Dwarf says proudly, smirking and showing a glint of gold between his white teeth. “Definitely evil. Prices of friendship, Thorin. Mere prices. But, honestly though – which table?”

The glaring intensifies. Dwalin only grins wider. He has a feeling he’s going to enjoy the next few weeks. Yes. He’s going to enjoy this very, very much. (He’d better make sure Ori’s nearby and ready with a camera approximately twenty-four hours a day from now on.)


	5. Part 5

From: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
To: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 21:04:42

**Subject: (no subject)**

_You thought I wouldn’t notice your shrewdness, huh? Too bad, Fíli and Kíli couldn’t keep quiet if so the entire wealth of Erebor was at stake. Ori stalking around with a camera is_ not _\- I repeat: NOT - shrewd. Or subtle. Whatsoever. I know you paid him to do it!_

_So just to make it clear: that hobbit means. nothing. to. me. Now, shut up and leave me be._

_Yours Not Sincerely,_

_Thorin_

_PS. Confiscated and emptied camera can be found in your letterbox tomorrow morning._

* * *

From: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
To: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 22:34:05

**Subject: Re: (no subject)**

_I haven’t tried to convince them anything, so don’t get your knickers in a twist! Whatever they do it’s entirely of their own design. You ought to know that by now._

_And what did you do to poor Ori?! You know he’s innocent. Give him back his camera. You don’t want to make him cry, do you? YOU BASTARD. IF YOU MADE HIM CRY I SHALL HAVE YOU TASTE MY WRATH_

_What are you so afraid of, anyway? That their shipping of you and the Hobbit will ruin your life? I thought we went over this last time, Thorin._

_Quit being ridiculous and grow a beard,_

_Dwalin_

* * *

From: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
To: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 22:55:49

**Subject: Re: re: (no subject)**

_Yes, admittedly we have discussed this before but at least that GIRL was a DWARF with a FINE BEARD! Not some four feet tall, woolly-headed Halfling who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business! And rant all the names of his second cousins’ aunts’ girlfriends like nobody’s business! That’s just not natural!!_

_And Fíli and Kíli wouldn’t actually mention said Dwarrowdam EVERY FIVE DAMNED MINUTES. But now this Halfling comes along and suddenly it’s all THEIR business, huh!??_

_Plus, I COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT HIM._

_AND I DO HAVE A BEARD; IT IS AWESOMELY MAJESTIC, YOU FUCKING PEST!!_

_Also Ori, innocent??! Since WHEN? Oh that’s right, since before you named him your boyfriend. Before you began shagging I MIGHT have believed you._

_I DID NOT MAKE HIM CRY!! HONEST. He did not cry, ok maybe he tried hitting me but he did not cry over something so stupid as a confiscated camera._

_(I’m not signing this because you deserve not to read my name and defile it)_

* * *

From: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
To: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 23:01:59

**Subject: Re: re: re: (no subject)**

_Are you even listening to me?!_

* * *

From: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
To: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 23:32:41

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: (no subject)**

_DAMN IT, DWALIN!! YOU UTTER MENACE!!!_

* * *

From: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
To: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-03 23:59:32

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: (no subject)**

_Answer me! I demand that you reply immediately!_

_Dwalin. DWALIN!_

_Answer me and Ori’s camera WILL be returned whole. I swear it on my honour._

* * *

Meanwhile, a heavily tattooed Dwarf (who would appear truly intimidating if he drew himself up to his full height and bared his sharp glinting teeth) is rolling on the floor cackling crazily.

(And he has already called Ori twice to make sure that he’s OK and yes, apparently Ori did try hitting Thorin. He had also tried to persuade Oakenshield to return the camera using his hurt-puppy-don’t-kick-me look, which is usually 110% effective but hadn’t worked that time. Dwalin promises to make Thorin pay for that and he’ll make Ori up for it with a date tomorrow, not that anyone has to know _that_ \- it should be a secret who exactly Dwalin’s soft spot is. Except, well, it kind of isn't now that Thorin apparently knows, and that basically equals a complete outing. So, yeah. A _sort of_ secret date, anyway.)

* * *

From: ToFeeFee@ardamail.com  
To: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-04 00:02:34

**Subject: a fair question**

_Hi cousin,_

_This is Fíli AND KEE, just wondering if you’ve talked with Dwalin yet. Just wanted to say that really he’s got nothing (much) to do with this. Don’t murder him all right? We all just want to help. Help, you._

_That and your history thingy with the Hobbit. Bilbo. He’s very nice you know. I – Fíli, that is, not my brotherBUT I HAVE MET HIM TOO! HE’S REALLY NICE WE’RE GOING TO MEET TOMORROW AND BUY ICE CREAM–- we talked with him the other day and showed him around town and you know you’re scaring him a bit, Thorin?_

_Mostly he’s annoyed though. HE CALLED YOU AN ARROGANT STUCK UPyes and some other unmentionable things.AN ASS & A SCORNFUL BRAT ANDstuff like that. Yes. _

_Also he likes strawberry/mint with a sprinkle of chocolate. Have you any idea how much Hobbits can eat?!? It’s like AWESOME. He could totally outdo Bombur in an eating contest! He’s like, like an endless PIT! And his mom’s a cook. So we MUST befriend him and get to dine at his place sometime And the easiest way to do that would be if you and he began to SHUT UP KEE NOT NOW! –- why not?? He totally wouldn ki8h3 hbd_

_So have you added him to your fb friendslist yet??_

_Nighty nighty,_

_Fíli & KÍLI xx_

* * *

From: ToFeeFee@ardamail.com  
To: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-04 02:45:27

**Subject: Re: a NOT SO fair question**

_Butt out of this you rascals!! And I wouldn’t care if so the Hobbit wore pants of gold and magic rings and gave everyone free ice cream. You get it?! Now. Leave. Me. Be._

_Go bother Dwalin; he deserves it._

_Your cousin,_

_Thorin_

* * *

From: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
To: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-04 05:23:32

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: re: (no subject)**

_What in Mahal’s name are those two doing calling me in the middle of the night?!_

_I know you’re behind it, don’t you fucking deny it!!_

_If this goes on, I’ll denounce you and take over the Company as leader, that’s for sure. And you’ll see that the Hobbit will LINGER if you don’t have a talk with your cousins. or I’ll cut off your most prized jewels._

_Am very pissed off and not at-fucking-all sincerely yours,_

_Master Dwalin_

* * *

This time, it is another Dwarf who start cackling away (quite evilly), a dark glint in his eyes. Ah, for once the tables have turned!

* * *

From: dw.alin.the.master@ardamail.com  
To: MajorlyMajesticDwarf@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-04 05:27:01

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: re: re: (no subject)**

_If I find out that Ori’s crying because of you I **WILL** CUT OFF THOSE JEWELS. _

_You have 4 hours to comply._

* * *

Well. OK. Maybe not.

* * *

At lunch next day, sitting with Fíli, Kíli and Bofur, Bilbo looks horribly confused at the secret glances they keep trading one another. And they refuse to answer about what. Something about ‘stuck-up stubborn bastards’ though.

They really don’t have a nice jargon around here. The things they keep saying …

He wonders if there’s a sickness going around. He checks the nearest Dwarf’s forehead, just in case, and Bofur makes an odd noise at that.

“No fever,” Bilbo mumbles, and Bofur’s eyes widen.

“Ah. No,” the Dwarf says. “Doubt you’d find one.”

* * *

To: baggins.forever@ardamail.com  
From: RedBookofWestmarch@ardamail.com  
SA 2013-02-10 15:32:09

**Subject: Re: re: re: A letter from your cousin**

_Hello Frodo,_

_I just wanted to say that Erebor is really strange. I just started realizing it. It might be all the Dwarves…I’m not sure. It’s not the Shire - that I can tell you!  My classmates were behaving very strange this whole week…I can’t pinpoint how or why exactly. It’s just a notion. Perhaps it’s just silly. Maybe I’m imagining it._

_Well, I’ve finally started working on that assignment with Mr Oakenshield. And, you know, he might not be that bad. A little stubborn, perhaps. I don’t think he has much experience with Hobbits. The assignment is making excellent progress! It’s all about family trees and that’s one of my favourite hobbies. Though I have to make sure: Was it Fortinbras (II) Took or Ferumbas III Took that married Laila Clayhanger, and which one was the son again?? I keep forgetting. Could you check that up for me, please? I would be very, very grateful._

_Otherwise, all is well. My mother is a little worn down…There is a lot going on now on the restaurant she works at, many late nights. I try to cheer her up, but, you know. It’s hard sometimes._

_Anyway, I hope everything is fine for you. Have you recovered from the flu? I hope you recover. It is dreadful to be ill._

_Your cousin,_

_Bilbo_

_PS. I’m sending a package of cookies which should arrive in a couple of days. I made them using my mother’s recipe, the one with rosemarine. Please enjoy them._


End file.
